The Last Everything

by Frank Kennedy

  “Crossing the lake now. Target zone in sight. Should be overhead in less than a minute.”

  “Jonathan, do not linger,” she said. “Law enforcement presence is growing, and we cannot ascertain their ground-to-air capabilities. They will recognize the stolen helicopter, and will not hesitate to resort to violence. One of their officers has been killed,. Two, if you count Ignatius. Instead, I want you to veer south.

  “We just heard an officer say their suspects appeared to be on foot heading south along the shoreline. The officer believes these suspects are carrying high-powered weapons. They must be Chancellors. The police are expanding their search, which means we have limited time to make this work. Do you understand?”

  “Approaching the shoreline now.”

  “We will continue south on Highway 39. We are still several minutes north of the officers. Call me as soon as you make contact and provide your coordinates.”

  “And if, by luck, I should find our targets out in the open?”

  Agatha smiled. In the front seat, Christian stared back at her through the rearview mirror.

  “You cared deeply for your brother, did you not?”

  Jonathan hesitated. “Dexter was a good man. Walt had no right to take him that way.”

  “I agree, Jonathan. If you see anyone born in the Collectorate,” she said, “kill him. Especially if he is tall and blond.”

  Christian pressed his foot on the gas. “You got that one right, Mom. This is a whole hell of a lot more fun than taking final exams.”

  Agatha wondered what administration might think when she didn’t show up to deliver her finals.

  “I wish you were taking exams, Christian. If the pulse had arrived on Walter’s schedule, I would be driving to school. Come 7:30, that first class of juniors would be walking in, their knees shaking in anticipation of inevitable failure. Two hours later as they left the room hanging their heads in defeat, I would offer them best wishes for the future. Naturally, I would place a terrifying spin on the notion. Then I would record my final grades and disappear from this world.”

  The car fell silent. Arthur looked up from the laptop.

  “It still can be, Agatha. We may yet go home.”

  Agatha sighed. She feared what might await them on the other side. Talk of civil war was growing before they crossed the fold.

  She decided to give Jonathan Cobb the best chance possible at killing his targets. She needed to create a distraction, so Agatha hit speed-dial.

  35

  A T THE BASE of the bluffs along the west shore of Lake Vernon, shortly before 6:30 a.m., a man named Gooch McCracken was enjoying a bitter cup of black coffee and petting his bloodhound, Hobson, on the front steps of his trailer when he heard a familiar sound. Another careless driver failed to navigate the sharp bend in Fortnight Road a few hundred yards away and played life-and-death with the bluffs. Gooch heard the familiar, sickening reverberation of an automobile tumbling over the edge. This sort of thing happened every couple of years for as long as he could remember, but this time he swore he heard a couple of gunshots beforehand.

  When he finished breakfast twenty minutes later, Gooch slipped on his wets, prepared his bait and tackle, tucked a large piece of chaw in the corner of his mouth, and shook his head as the predictable sirens approached Fortnight Road. He started downhill toward Lake Vernon and immediately dropped his pail of worms.

  A man emerging from the shore and approaching the trailer was easily a foot taller and had muscles as imposing as the pro wrestlers Gooch loved back when he had a television. The man’s bulk did not concern Gooch as much as the thick, reddish-brown stain on the side of the man’s gut and blood trickling down the face and onto the neck. But even those unexpected characteristics did not grab his attention like the AK-47 the man tucked against the left side of his body, the rifle aimed at Gooch’s heart.

  The stranger looked past Gooch to a gray 1973 Ford pickup.

  “Keys,” Walt Huggins said.

  Gooch backed up. “Don’t want no trouble, fella. Looks like you need a doctor.” He turned to his dog, who snarled. “Sit your ass down, Hobson.”

  “The keys will suffice. Hand them over.”

  “Look here, there’s cops right up the road. Reckon they can get you to a doctor quicker than old Sally here. Or maybe I reckon you don’t want the cops. Look here, the keys is in the ignition. Just take her and go. I won’t say boo. You was never here.”

  Walt opened the truck’s door and glanced at the ignition then at Gooch. Walt pulled the trigger twice. Two dark holes opened in Gooch’s chest, and the hermit dropped, dead before he hit ground. Walt jumped into the truck. With his right hand, he tossed the GPS hand-held onto the passenger seat then started the engine. With his left hand, he reined in the rifle and slammed the door.

  At that moment, the unique clatter of a helicopter engine exploded close by, and Walt saw the outline of the chopper through the trees as it raced by along the shoreline.

  As if on cue, his cell phone rang. He accepted the call, stunned by the name on screen.

  “You will fail again, Agatha,” he answered. “The future will be secured. Surrender now, and no one has to die except for James.”

  “And all the millions who will come after,” Agatha said. “Walter. Dear Walter. You and I should have never reached such a tragic impasse. Five of us have perished today. We were all such wonderful friends. Once.”

  Walt put the truck in reverse. “Your definition of ‘friend’ is liberal at best. We are Chancellors. You seem to have forgotten that little detail.”

  “On the contrary, Walter. That detail is what provides me with purpose. As Chancellors, we have always sought absolute control over all facets of society in order to promote stability and a clearly defined hierarchy. But this time we went too far. Perhaps we earned our fate. The future stops today. The others have decided to follow that mantra, no matter the consequences. I only wish you could have seen the wisdom of our path.”

  Walter had had enough. “I know how all this will end, Agatha. I have sufficient help on the way. You’ll never get to him. Two words, my dear old friend: Shock Units.”

  Walt ended the call and looked one more time at his latest victim, whose contorted body stared up at the dog licking his face.

  Miles away, in the red Camaro, Christian asked, “What are Shock Units? I’m thinking that sounds bad.”

  “He’s bluffing,” Arthur said. “How could he have pulled that off?”

  “Concentrate on the road,” Agatha said. “We have work to do.”

  Agatha tensed as she wondered how horribly she underestimated Walt Huggins.

  36

  W HEN HE KNEW Ben was not a mirage, Jamie’s heart jumped for the first time since his nightmare began. Ben collapsed to the sand, an M16 sliding off his shoulder and onto the beach. By the time Jamie and Michael reached him, Ben struggled to catch his breath, speaking incoherent words between coughs. Jamie examined Ben, felt around the bullet wound above the collarbone, and saw splotches of bloodstains in the torn clothes intermixed with sand as well as countless bruises and scrapes.

  “How?” He asked. “How did you find us? Nobody knew …”

  Ben wrapped a filthy hand around Jamie’s neck, brought the boy closer and smiled even as he coughed.

  “I came back for you this time,” he stammered. “Won’t let you down anymore. Promise.”

  Jamie’s heart softened for an instant. He wanted to believe.

  “I’m glad you’re alive, Ben. We thought …”

  “Yeah, right. The big bang.” Ben seemed giddy.

  “I don’t understand. How did you know where to find me?”

  Ben explained about the GPS before grabbing his chest and wincing.

  “Not smart for a drunk to run two miles with a bullet hole and banged-up legs, especially when he hasn’t worked out in years.”

  Ben’s voice trailed off.

  “Cooper? What the hell you doing here?”

  The anger i
n Jamie’s blood percolated at once. He didn’t give Michael a chance to speak.

  “They tracked down Coop and near about killed him, too. Queen Bee and her people.”

  Ben coughed. “Good thing they can’t shoot straight. Cooper, glad to see you’re in one piece.” He told the boys to help him stand. “Listen, J. We’ve got to finish what we started at the lake house. You ran away before I could tell you the whole story.”

  “There’s nothing more to say, Ben. I’ve accepted it. I know what’s going to happen. The only thing that matters now is getting Coop to safety.”

  “You don’t have all the pieces. I’m the only one who can make this right. Problem is, we don’t have much time. Maybe minutes. I just don’t know what we’re up against. We’ve got to get off this beach and find a private place that’s safe. Where’s the boat?”

  “Around the point.”

  “We need cover. A few miles up Ginny’s Creek ought to do nicely.”

  “That was where Sammie wanted to go when we were coming in, but I told her to land the boat near the point.”

  Ben’s faced reddened at the mention of her name. He looked south along the beach and pegged squinted eyes on a new target. The boys followed his gaze. Sammie was making her way toward the threesome, one hesitant step at a time. She carried the pistol in her right hand pointed down. Ben let go of his support team, grabbed his rifle, and slung it over his healthy shoulder.

  “She can’t be trusted,” Ben said.

  Jamie wasn’t prepared to argue the point, but he didn’t expect the deep animosity in Ben’s voice. Sammie drew closer.

  “You’re alive,” she said. “What about my parents?”

  Ben winced as he tugged at his wounded shoulder.

  “Tell her,” Jamie whispered.

  Ben swallowed. “Your mother didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”

  Sammie’s eyes hit the ground; her gun hand trembled.

  “And Daddy?”

  Ben shook his head. “I don’t know and I don’t care.”

  Jamie pulled away, saw the mix of shock and dismay in Sammie’s eyes and wanted to level his brother. Ben straightened himself out, repositioned the M16 and continued forward unconcerned by his answer. Sammie raised her pistol and aimed.

  “Did you do something to Daddy?”

  Before Ben answered, Jamie stepped forward. “C’mon, Sammie. Put the gun down. Look, Ben, just fill us in. If you expect me to listen to whatever you got to say, then you’d better tell Sammie where her dad is.”

  Ben gritted his teeth but did not stop walking. He was passing Sammie, her weapon still aimed, when he said, “Last time I saw Walt, he put two bullets in a cop point-blank. We had a falling out after that.”

  Ben snagged the pistol before Sammie knew what came her way.

  “You let your defenses down,” Ben told the girl. “The Unification Guard wouldn’t like that, especially for a rookie with Dacha training.”

  Jamie saw similarities between Ben’s lightning-fast move and the one Sammie pulled earlier. He neither understood the Dacha reference nor cared, but he did catch the hostile – and alien – glare between his brother and the girl he might have loved. He reminded himself that they were Chancellors. He didn’t hesitate to accept when Ben handed him the pistol.

  “You may need this more than her.”

  Ben snarled as he moved ahead.

  Jamie glanced over his shoulder as they advanced toward the point. Sammie stayed behind, a statue with eyes focused on the ground. She balled her fists, and Jamie didn’t know whether she was ready to fly into a rage or needed someone to stop and comfort her. He remembered the sudden emptiness of spirit when Sheriff Everson delivered the news about his own mom and dad, and the desire to lash out against the world.

  “Where are your shirts?” Ben asked the boys.

  “Bullet holes make a mess,” Jamie said.

  Just like that, Ben slapped him across the chest. He insisted everyone shut up.

  “Listen,” he whispered.

  They heard the same rhythm at once. It stood out against the otherwise perfect silence of a morning where the wind died and the water was placid. Jamie knew the echo of the rotor blades, the background roar of the approaching engine. They scanned north along the shore.

  Orange sunlight cast a metallic sparkle over the helicopter racing low along the shoreline, half a mile away and closing fast.

  “Move,” Ben shouted.

  They took off in a dead run, reaching the point within seconds. Only as they rounded the point and neared the first cluster of scattered trees, realizing they were still a couple hundred yards from thick cover, did Jamie look back. Sammie was gone.

  Jamie shouted for her.

  “Shut up and move,” Ben said, coughing between his words.

  “I’m with Ben,” Michael yelled. “Get to the boat.”

  “No,” Ben said. “No time.”

  The roar of the chopper’s engine reverberated louder than Jamie remembered from the first encounter, and its echo bounced through the trees like the first cannon shots of a swarming enemy.

  Leapfrogging over debris and clambering over logs slowed down all three, and twice Ben groaned as he jumped, the second time grabbing at his left side beneath his rib cage. Jamie and Michael tried to help him along, but he pushed them away, insisting they go ahead, that he could keep up. They passed the speedboat without a word as the roar grew.

  Jamie flipped around for no more than a second, hoping to see Sammie right behind, but she was not there. Rather, the low sun seemed to fill the mouth of the creek, a wide, angry oval rising to punish the world.

  “Ben, I don’t …”

  He heard a curse, turned around to see the M16 flying forward, skidding off a log and onto a pair of rocks which were half-submerged in the water’s edge. Ben was writhing on the ground, grabbing his knee. Michael twisted about to help, and Jamie ran to his brother’s side.

  “I can make it,” Ben shouted. “Get the gun.”

  For an instant, they froze. The helicopter swung about as it reached the mouth of the creek, and they were blinded as the heart of the sun enveloped the approaching enemy. Michael and Jamie each draped an arm around Ben then stumbled forward.

  Machine-gun fire burst forth from the chopper, the bullets spraying the water and, growing closer, the scattered debris along the shore.

  As Jamie considered that he might not survive another ten seconds, he saw a shadow slip past. He heard desperate footsteps and lost control of his brother. The threesome tumbled. Jamie turned. Before he began to understand, Jamie grabbed his ears to muffle the sound of hell descending.

  He saw a lone figure on a rock, the rifle no longer visible. Then he heard the report of a weapon, every bit as loud and ferocious but more measured, each burst a half-second apart.

  Bullets pinged against the debris, wood shards flying without mercy, and Jamie did not see how he could avoid the rain of death. And in a surreal fragment of time, like when one wakes from a dream and faces the blunt force of reality, the bullets stopped landing. He heard a sickening whirr, several mechanical pops, and saw smoke.

  The helicopter spun out of control, fire emerging from the engine just above the fuselage, the rotor blade stalling and the tail fin all but shot off. A man and his rifle fell from the open door on the pilot side, landing with a sickening thud on the logs. The chopper seemed to utter one last, painful death moan as it glided over the threesome and collided head-on with a pine tree, the metal contorting and the fuselage bursting into flames as it smashed to the ground, which shook.

  Jamie, Ben and Michael stared at each other, the fiery wreckage, and then the rocks along the water.

  Sammie lowered the M16. She was surrounded by shell casings ejected from the rifle.

  37

  J AMIE HAD NO words. This was beyond anything he could have imagined. He owed his life to her but couldn’t convince himself to wrap his arms around her. What Jamie knew for the moment was that Samantha Huggins was eve
n further removed from the girl he grew up with.

  “Holy hell,” Michael said before whistling. “Call this girl GI Jane and stick a fork in that dude. He’s cooked.” He offered hearty applause. “I don’t know how you did that, girl, but I am sold.”

  Sammie formed the inkling of a smile, but her temperament didn’t soften when she locked on Ben. She navigated the rocks and strode up to him, rifle at her side, eyes full of water.

  “Daddy was proud of me when I finished Dacha. Be glad I did.”

  She tossed the rifle at Ben, who caught it against his body. He turned to Jamie and offered an uncertain nod.

  “We’re alive, but we can’t stay here,” Ben told everyone. “We need cover.” He nodded toward Jonathan Cobb’s body on the logs. “Cooper, grab that AK and see if he was packing anything else. Another pistol, maybe.”

  Michael shook his head and laughed. “No sweat, dude. But I’m gonna tell you straight up, an AK ain’t exactly my speed.”

  “Fine, Cooper. Military weapons should be left to people who understand how to use them.”

  Without another word, Ben handed Sammie the M16. They shared an agreeable nod, and Ben limped his way toward the boat, which appeared to have dodged the shower of bullets. Sammie waited behind for Jamie.

  Jamie could not express himself beyond a meek, “Thank you.” He tucked his pistol inside his pants and felt a curious swirl of emotions. He was afraid of what else he might learn about her, but he also had a swelling desire to kiss her.

  “C’mon,” she whispered. “We gotta go.”

  As the boat pulled away, leaving behind the fiery wreckage and the body of a man they all once knew, Jamie felt the déjà vu of once again fleeing death to the steady rhythm of an outboard. He fell into the back seat and set the pistol to his side. Unlike that first escape, Jamie found himself surrounded by a fully-armed if motley collection of soldiers.

  Ben, who insisted on taking the wheel despite his injuries, laid an AK across his lap as he piloted the boat around the first bend. Michael held a pistol as he sat across from Ben. Sammie pointed her M16 down. Jamie saw the true Samantha Huggins.